


daily grind

by bertee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Horror, Gen, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2018-05-15 17:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5793601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU of 'Meet the New Boss' in which Godstiel keeps a very unwilling Dean around in order to provide power boosts via soulfisting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	daily grind

Sam gets away.

That's the important thing, Dean thinks in the aftermath. Sure, Sam's head isn't all that sturdy since the wall came down but he's got Bobby and he's smart. Between the two of them, they'll figure out a way to fix Sam and a way to fix Cas and maybe, if he's lucky, they'll get to him while there's still a chance to fix him too.

He doesn't waste energy on turning his head when the door scrapes open. The footsteps are familiar enough for him to dismiss any hope of rescue and whoever is currently captaining the good ship Cas will make themselves known soon enough.

The footsteps get closer, rattling the half-empty beaker on the uneven floor, and Dean concentrates on the warm weight of the shackle around his ankle as his breathing slows down.

Cas keeps saying it'll hurt less if he relaxes.

The first touch comes in the form of fingers sliding through his hair, like he's a pet instead of a prisoner, and Dean doesn't need to open his eyes to figure out that Cas is the one in control today.

"You can stop pretending you're asleep."

Dean smiles weakly but doesn't open his eyes. "What gave it away?"

Cas' hand moves down, his fingers resting against Dean's neck with deceptive gentleness. "Your throat. It shivers when you're afraid."

Dean opens his eyes at that. Even in the shadows of the cell, Cas' face is distorted, skin stretched thin across jaws too wide for his skull. 

Dean wonders if he'll ever get to see all of the things living inside him.

Lifting his fingers from his neck, Cas reaches down to pick up the beaker of water -- one of the few things in Crowley's laboratory without sharp edges -- and eases his other hand under Dean's head. Fingers crawl inside Cas' arm, knuckles and nails jutting out beneath the cuff of his shirt, but Dean's too tired to resist when Cas lifts his head up to hold the water to his lips.

He hates this, hates the apologetic preamble almost as much as the main event, but he can't do anything to block out Cas' quiet justifications as water spills over his tongue and down his dry throat. 

"I'm sorry, Dean," he says, as something coils itself between the tendons of his neck. "I just need to stay in control of them. If there were any other way…"

Alastair, for all his faults, was honest. There were no apologies, no pretence of acting for the greater good. He did what he did to Dean because he enjoyed it, because it pleased to him watch Dean writhe and beg and suffer, and as Cas rests his head back on the bed, Dean misses the simplicity of Hell.

"I'll make it quick." Cas' voice is close enough to that of his old self but the tackiness of drying blood on his fingers tells a different story. "It'll hurt less if you relax."

In his head, Dean slides into the driver's seat of the Impala, his knuckles white on the wheel as he waits for the ride to start. Blackness seeps from under Cas' fingernails as he pushes the bit between Dean's teeth and when Dean closes his eyes, he tastes blood and salt on the leather.

Cas' hand creeps down his body. He moves slow, like a gameshow host waiting to see where the wheel's gonna stop, and Dean wants to scream at him to get it over with. There's no suspense, no need for foreplay when Dean has no option but to take it the same way he has done every day, and when Cas halts just below his ribcage, Dean squeezes his eyes shut tighter.

At least with Alastair there was some variety.

There's no such luck with Cas. His fingertips settle in the same spots with a surgeon's precision but the blunt push that follows is anything but clinical. 

He opens him up with his fingers. The pressure sears through him, crushing the breath out of his lungs and radiating up his spine as Dean's body tenses against the intrusion, but that's not enough to stop him as the skin gives way under his fingers. There's no relief after the first push, no pause or breathing room allowed, and Dean screams through the leather as Cas drives in deeper and deeper and deeper.

The pictures in his head blink out into whiteness when Cas finally makes it inside. Dean's open and dripping, stretched wide enough that every flutter of breath makes pain sing through his entire body, and he arches as Cas moves that little bit more. He's past skin and muscle and organs and blood, past every physical barrier Dean has, and Dean can't do anything other than keep breathing while Cas takes what he wants.

Dean can't tell what sounds his own voice is making, can't tell if he's pulling against the shackle or if he's fighting the intrusion, but even beneath the pain lighting up his nerves, he doesn't miss Cas' groan of satisfaction as he rips another hit of power out of Dean's body.

The withdrawal is a release, blissful and cruel, and Dean bucks on the bed with a moan when the flood of pain finally breaks. His body closes up as Cas pulls out, tightening around the hole left inside him, and Dean gasps for air and coughs up blood in the same breath.

His clothes are soaked with sweat. Tears trickle into his ears from where they've run out of the corners of his eyes but Dean can barely bring himself to open his eyelids, let alone raise his hands to wipe them away. His body is split open and hollowed out and when he breathes in, he can still feel the ache of Cas inside him.

Blood trickles from his mouth when Cas removes the bit. His deformities are gone, locked back inside for a few more hours, and when he tilts his head to look down at Dean, he moves like he's the only one wearing that skin.

Cas' smile is serene when he wipes the blood from his lips. 

"Thank you," he says, like Dean did him a favor. Like Dean had a choice. 

He touches two fingers to Dean's forehead before Dean can tell him to go fuck himself.


End file.
